


Terms Of Service

by Misachan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M, Misunderstandings, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misachan/pseuds/Misachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winchester Auto Body has seen better days. With their father gone and Sam away at school it's all on Dean to keep the place afloat – so it's hard for him to admit he's failing. Bills are piling up and creditors are calling but Dean knows that if he could just push a little bit harder, find a few more hours in the day he could turn it around. In fact, there's a restoration job in the shop right now that would go a long way toward solving his problems. Unfortunately, the due date is the next morning and Dean knows there's not a chance in hell of him finishing on time.</p><p>But when he wakes up the next morning the car is perfect. This becomes a pattern, Dean waking up in the morning to find work he'd left undone finished overnight until his curiosity gets the better of him; he stakes out the shop one night and finally discovers the identity of his mysterious assistant: a beautiful, winged – and naked – elf calling himself Castiel. As the two of them start working together the curiosity turns to fascination and finally to something more but there are words Castiel can't say and choices he can't make – not without consequences Dean can't understand. An AU based on the fairy tale "The Elves And The Shoemaker."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Terms Of Service](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/18657) by Asteraoth. 



> All my thanks to asteraoth for being a wonderful (and truly patient!) partner. The chance to get stories claimed by artists like you is why I keep signing up for these things.:) And of course thank you to aerilex, who continues to be made of beta reading magic. Written for round 3 of dc_dystopia.
> 
> See end notes for full content notes/warnings.

Winchester Auto Body had seen better days. 

Dean swept the stack of bills off the table and poured himself another shot. He couldn't pay them, he didn't know why he was spending another night up late looking at them – if business kept going at this pace he'd be lucky to keep the lights on for another month, let alone....

Dean sighed, bending down to pick up one of the bills from the floor. The Stanford logo in the corner felt like an accusing eye glaring at him; he and Sam had learned the hard way that scholarships covered a lot but not everything, and all those extras kept landing in Dean's mailbox. He crumpled the bill up and then winced, smoothing it back out against the table. Dean had promised Sam he wouldn't have to worry about anything, Dean would always be able to cover whatever he needed and he would be damned if that was a promise he'd break.

After he'd finished sorting the bills into the usual piles of collection letters, final notices and worry-about-later Dean compared it to the outstanding invoices he expected to collect on in the next week and knocked back a strong shot. Then he redid the math, poured himself another and knocked that one back too, muttering _Fuck_ because the ratio was even worse than it had been over the past few months and Dean didn't know what in the hell he was going to do. 

He could call Bobby. It would be the second month in a row and it killed Dean every time he made that phone call – he didn't know why Bobby hadn't started blocking his calls, all he ever did anymore was ask for money they both knew Bobby didn't really have – but wounded pride had never been enough to keep him from picking up the phone, not when it came to Sam. But the truth was Bobby had his own finances to look after and while Dean knew he'd never tell Dean no there really was a limit to how much blood someone could squeeze out of a stone. Keeping the shop afloat wasn't worth losing Bobby his house; Dean knew about the mortgage he'd taken out to finance the last loan. And he knew Sam would blame himself, even though it would be completely Dean's fault. 

The failure would burn less if Dean could tell himself it was because he did bad work and deserved it, but he knew damn well that wasn't true. He did _awesome_ work, Winchester Auto was the best shop in the state but he only had two hands. Getting a reputation for being slow in this business was almost as bad as having one for being a cheat – worse in some ways, because there were plenty of rubes who were more than happy to pay for sub-par work if it meant it was done fast. And Dean knew he could cut corners like everyone else but he could never quite bring himself to do it; every time he so much as entertained the thought he heard his father's voice in his ear, telling Dean he expected him to run that shop right, the way he always had. 

Of course, the difference there was that John Winchester had been able to count on free labor from his sons in addition to being able to hire the odd employee; it had been over a year since Dean had been able to afford even someone part time, not even some punk from the tech school, and with Sam gone Dean could only do so much. Every day a job sat in his shop unfinished felt like the whole business slipping through his fingers. And the business itself had changed since John had inherited it from his own father; each year less and less people drove the classic cars that had put Winchester Auto on the map in the first place. It was all smart cars and hybrids and ugly boxes on wheels nowadays with computers to tell their owners when something was wrong; no one knew what a good running engine sounded like anymore. Dean wished he could switch to a pure restoration shop, _that_ was where the real money was but properly restoring something took even longer than just repairing.

In fact, Dean had a restoration job in the shop now that he'd been working on until his fingers cracked to get it done by the contracted deadline, a gorgeous Charger with a rich douchebag owner who didn't deserve her. Dean didn't like to work with hard delivery dates but the reward in this case seemed to be worth the risk, twice the amount any of his other clients paid and a bonus for each day early he could deliver it. Finishing the Charger would solve an awful lot of problems, at least for the moment.

Dean wished he had just one more pair of hands. The delivery date for the Charger was first thing in the morning and it needed one more full day's work. 

And as if the Charger's jerk owner could hear him thinking, Dean's phone rang, that hated number blinking on the screen. "Mr. Roman," he said, putting that _professional_ tone in his voice that always made him want to puke. "Just the man I was about to call."

Damn, this guy could talk. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he rode out the rant, waiting until the guy took a breath so he could get a word in edgewise. "Yes, Mr. Roman, we did schedule the inspection for today. Yes, I know, I should have called." Dean would rather have set the whole shop on fire and walked away than call that morning to say the Charger wasn't fit for inspection. Roman just would have marched his expensive suit down there and that would have been Dean's whole day. "That's why I was about to call, to give you the update."

Dean leaned against the wall, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to fend off the headache building behind his eyes. "No, it's not a good idea to come down here now." Dean swallowed hard, his throat so dry it felt like he'd just downed a handful of razor blades. There was still time to...Dean didn't know. Throw himself off the roof. That sounded like a plan. "I'm just gonna need until the weekend."

Dean winced as the volume went way, way up. "Yes, sir," he said, and did it ever kill him to call this slime in a designer suit _sir_. "I know that's not what we agreed to." He rode out the next couple minutes of lecturing. "Yes, I understand how important the car show coming up is to your business. If you're worried about getting it shipped there in time, I'll drive it down myself, no charge, no problem...of course. Right, obviously no one can _drive_ the Charger. I don't know what I was thinking." There was a part of Dean that wanted to hide such a gorgeous car from someone so undeserving. 

Dean slumped down to the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. "No, Mr. Roman. We don't need to get any lawyers involved." He bit his lip to keep back the profanity fighting to get out, hard enough that he tasted blood. "Guess I'll see you in the morning then." Roman switched back to that cheery fake professional voice so quickly Dean felt his stomach lurch. "Looking forward to it."

The call ended and Dean stared down at the phone for a few long seconds, watching the number blink on the screen. Then he snapped the phone shut and pulled himself back up, pouring himself one more double shot to wash the taste of all of that out of his mouth before grabbing his tool kit and heading out to the shop.

***

When he switched on the shop lights Dean felt like the stripped down Charger was pleading with him. "Yeah, I know, girl," he said, stroking one hand along the front fender. "I don't want to hand you over to that douche either." But there was no way around it; he couldn't be sure Roman would really sic his lawyers on him if Dean couldn't deliver in the morning, but it wasn't a bluff he could risk calling. He couldn't afford a lawyer and he sure as hell couldn't spare the time or money defending himself from a lawsuit. And even if Roman decided to play nice and not sue Dean's pants right off him the alternative wasn't all that better; according to the contract if the work wasn't finished to Roman's satisfaction all the hours of work he'd poured into the Charger would be for nothing. Roman could just pick up the car, get the finishing touches done by whoever and never pay Dean a dime. He couldn't afford that, he'd been banking on this car and this payout and without it the doors to Winchester Auto would close a lot sooner than later.

So the only solution was to get this thing done. Dean surveyed the car; he'd done most of the heavy lifting already, the transmission, the engine, all of that ran better than when the car had first rolled out of the factory and the interior was spotless. All that was left was to finish the repair on the control arm and ball joints, replace the tires and then just the final detail work. Ten hours of work, eight if he really hustled. If he worked through the night he could do this. 

It wasn't the first all nighter he'd pulled that week trying to get this car done. He was operating on three hours of sleep right now and hadn't had time to put much more in his stomach than coffee and booze but Dean pushed that aside. Just one more night, then it would all be over. He could do this.

After the first hour Dean felt a twinge in his shoulder and took a quick break to throw his ice pack on it. Another half hour went by and Dean stopped to catch his breath after wrestling the final ball joint into place, leaning his head against the tire well. His eyes burned and Dean closed them for just a second, hoping for a moment of relief.

He was fast asleep before he could even take another breath.

***

The Charger was _perfect_. Dean traced his fingers along the racing stripe running down the side, one that hadn't been there the night before. He couldn't get over how _straight_ it was, like it had been drawn with one of those laser levelers Dean had always lusted after but had never been able to afford. Spend enough time around restored cars and you developed an eye for the tiny imperfections in the paint and body work but with the Charger there was nothing. Everything was perfect, straight-from-the-factory perfect except Dean knew damn well the car looked better now than any factory could manage. 

Ran better, too; Dean turned the engine over and didn't think he'd ever heard a prettier sound. "Looks like a little motivation was just what you needed, Mr. Winchester."

Dean hadn't even heard Roman come in; he jumped as he looked up, swearing under his breath as he saw Roman standing in his doorway with that shit-eating grin of his. "Mr. Roman," he said, turning off the engine and getting out, being careful not to slam the door. He felt reluctant to even let his fingerprints mar this beautiful thing. "You're early." 

"I'm here exactly when I said I would be," he countered, making a slow circle around the car. "Interesting paint job. That's not what we'd discussed." 

That was because Dean hated racing stripes, they were always a bitch and a half. Before he could say a word in response Roman said, "I like it. It'll stand out at the show." He nodded to Dean. "Pop the hood." Dean complied and walked over to take a look himself, glad Roman wasn't looking at him in that first second because he knew there was no way he could hide that initial flash of shock. The engine was spotless; forget just from the factory, the heart of this car looked like God himself had reached down to spit shine it clean. Dean grabbed the hood when Roman backed away and lowered it gently, feeling irrationally worried that Roman's sleaze could infect the car. 

When Dean looked back he actually though Roman looked a little impressed. "Not bad," he said, which was _high fucking praise_ compared to the usual attitude the guy brought into his shop, then he slid his checkbook out of his pocket and started writing one out then and there. "Our agreed upon price," he said, handing the check to Dean. "Plus a little extra for the innovative thinking on the paint job."

That was a lot of zeroes. "Cool," Dean managed to say, proud of the way he was able to control himself. "Good doing business with you." Wasn't really true of course, but that was the kind of thing you said. 

"Likewise. A few more anxious moments than I'd prefer, but results are all that matters." He slid the checkbook back into his pocket. "The shipper should be here to transport it-" Dean mentally replaced "it" with _her_ – "in an hour and then we'll be on our way." He gave Dean an approving nod, the closest Dean ever wanted to come to a corporate evaluation. "I'll keep you in mind for the future." 

Even after he left Dean couldn't let himself relax until the shippers loaded the Charger onto the trailer and were out of sight. Then Dean could let his legs give out under him; he sat on the front porch of his stoop and just stared at the check, like he expected it to dissolve in his hands or start laughing at him or anything other than actually be real. Dean didn't get lucky breaks. They just didn't happen. 

Dean took the rest of the day off, depositing the check in the bank and paying off a few of the most pressing bills, cutting a check to Stanford and another with some pocket money for Sam, and splurging on a really good bottle of whiskey for himself. By the time he got back the afternoon was edging down towards night and Dean was looking forward to a nice, quiet, relaxing evening. Or maybe change and head out to O'Malley's to see if that waitress who always winked at him had any plans for the night. 

Instead his phone rang just as he pulled his truck into the driveway, and he swore so loud when he saw it was Roman's number it all but echoed against the windshield. "Dean!" Roman said before Dean could even half-ass a hello. "Great news, the Charger pulled in double the appraiser's estimate at the auction. I've wired another five thousand into your account."

 _Awesome._ "Mr. Roman, that's not necessary...."

"Think of it as a down payment. You'll get the rest on delivery. Not the way I usually do things, but you've earned a little faith."

Dean was about to ask what the hell Roman was on about when he rounded the corner and saw: the same shippers from that morning were back at his shop door, this time with a broken-down Firebird. "Same terms as last time, I'll have the contract messenger-ed over in the morning. Make me proud, Dean."

Dean shook his head when Roman hung up but it wasn't like he could realistically say no; he'd have to replace transmissions every day for a month to equal the money he'd just been handed for the one Charger. 

And besides, he loved making these old girls glow again. Dean directed the shippers inside and showed them where to put the Firebird, walking around it to start the initial evaluation. It needed front end work, a lot of it, and when he tried to start it the engine sputtered and creaked. Not good sounds.

He decided he'd call it a night after all and tackle the engine first thing in the morning. 

***

The Firebird's engine looked like someone had gone back in time to find the one she'd been built with, only no factory engine was ever this spotless. Dean crouched in front of the car, staring at the impossible coils that had been twisted heaps of metal the night before. He'd actually started to doubt his sanity when he'd popped the hood that morning and seen that the dirty, broken engine had been replaced by...by _this_. He'd never seen a more perfect repair job; he actually hoped Roman didn't plan on taking this one out to auction because he doubted any of the appraisers would ever believe this was the original engine. 

It was all very weird. Still, Dean shook that aside; the engine was done but the Firebird still needed a ton of work and wasting time boggling wasn't going to get any of it done.

He decided to try a test, though. Right before he shut out the shop lights that night he took a careful inventory of what he'd done for the day – wheel alignment, window installation, fan belt replacement – and on a second page noted everything that still needed doing, like the headlights and the brake shoes and the cracked windshield. He locked the door behind him and hid the key in the hidden slot behind his parents' wedding portrait. If he was going to sleepwalk his way into this shop tonight, he was going to have to earn it.

***

Dean wondered if sleep working made someone more efficient, because he didn't manage anything near this degree of time management with his eyes open. Windshield, fixed. Brakes, done. And some other smaller things here and there, like fixing that little rattling sound the steering wheel made when it was turned all the way to the left and doing and starting the initial patch job on the damaged upholstery. He could do that amount of work in a day, but it would mean doing nothing but work from sun up to sun down. Dean worked hard but he'd have to be a robot to make this happen.

But the work was getting done somehow and Dean was starting to go a little crazy trying to figure it out. Part of him kept trying to say leave it alone, that hey, if it's getting done, who cares? But Dean wasn't wired that way. This was _his_ shop, he needed to know every single thing that happened under its roof or he didn't deserve to be running it. And he'd never been the type to take well to charity; Dean took pride in paying his debts, glad that he was finally getting to be in a position to do that, and not knowing who he owed for all this help twisted in his gut like a slowly turning corkscrew. 

If it even was someone else. Either way, Dean knew that if stress was making him sleep work he should confirm that, too, before anything weirder started happening. The present was plenty weird enough. 

The headlights were still busted, though. That puzzled Dean and he kept coming back to it; that job had been high on his to-do list, way before the torn seat and the steering wheel rattle. It wasn't until he looked over his delivery reports that he realized he couldn't have fixed it because he was still waiting for the back ordered part to come in. 

Which at least told him none of this was happening by magic. If Casper the friendly ghost was coming in to do a nightly good deed, he couldn't conjure the right parts any more than Dean could. It did make him feel a little better, to imagine his mysterious assistant sitting around getting frustrated waiting for parts that never arrived. God alone knew he'd wasted more than enough time doing the exact same thing. 

But working on Dick Roman's dime did have one advantage, and that was that when he made noise that he needed a part, that part got delivered. The sun was just going down when he opened the package containing the headlights, setting them on the counter as he stepped back to think about what to do. He could replace them now, but one of his neighbors had just brought in an old Dodge with a busted headlight of its own, along with a dented fender and broken right axle after one of his punk kids took it for a joyride and it would be nice to get a little local word of mouth going.

So Dean went to put a few hours in on that and left the headlights on the counter, along with a post-it note saying, "Had them put a rush job on these." What the hell. If he was going crazy he might as well have some fun with it.

The next morning he went down to the shop to find the headlights installed and the note lying flat on the counter under the pen he'd left. Underneath his scrawled message were two crossed out blotches, as if whoever doing the writing hadn't been sure what to say, and then finally just "Thank You" written in the kind of graceful script you found in penmanship books. Dean grinned and pocketed the note; he knew confirmation there really was someone creeping around in his shop while he slept should have had him angry, or at least freaked out, but...Dean didn't know. That whoever it was had apparently agonized over replying to his half-assed note was kind of endearing. 

And he couldn't deny that the work was good. Dean did his best to push the mystery to the back of his mind and got on with the rest of the day. Still, when he broke for lunch he took the note out of his pocket and wondered.

*** 

"I just think you're over thinking this."

Dean took a beer out of the fridge, cradling the phone against his shoulder. "C'mon, Sam. You're telling me that if every night when you fell asleep someone snuck in your room and did your homework you'd be cool with it?"

"Dean, my homework right now is a comprehensive comparison of tort law on a state by state basis. If your genie gets bored fixing cars over there please, send him over."

"Don't know it's a him," Dean countered, pulling up a chair. "Could be a hot Barbara Eden chick. That would be nice."

"Seriously, Dean." Dean rolled his eyes; Sam had that _I'm worried about you_ tone in his voice. "I'm worried about you," he said, and it took all of Dean's self-control not to laugh out loud at that. "Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"I'm not crazy, Sam."

"I didn't say you were, but clearly _something's_ going on."

"Weren't you the one who just saying I was over thinking this?"

"I mean the obsessing about someone sneaking into the shop."

Dean slammed the beer bottle down on the table hard enough that he knew Sam had probably heard it. "That's what's happening."

"Look, Dean, listen to what you're saying. You're telling me that someone is sneaking into the shop every night – the _locked_ shop – doing all the work you didn't finish during the day, not eating anything, not drinking anything, not making any noise, and then leaves come daylight and locks up behind them."

"And sweeps up, too," Dean said, realizing just how nuts that sounded when someone said it out loud. 

"And sweeps up, too. Listen to yourself."

"Okay, smart guy. So what do _you_ think is going on?"

"You're sleepwalking."

Dean shook his head even though he knew Sam couldn't see. "No way. I lock the door. I put the key in the hiding spot between Mom and Dad's wedding photo, no way could I get that without waking myself up."

"Or you can because you can sleep work without waking up, too. There are cases with people doing all kinds of things while they're asleep, driving, shopping, you name it." Dean knew that wasn't true – he had the note, but he knew if he brought that up to Sam he'd just say Dean was sleep writing, too. "How much are you drinking?" Sam asked, his voice low.

Dean's hand curled into a fist before he could stop it. "That's not it. And none of your business."

"It could be, Dean. Stephen King doesn't remember writing Cujo because he'd been drinking so much back then. If you're blacking out that could explain everything."

Dean actually had cut back on the drinking lately – not fending off calls from collection companies did wonders for that – but he doubted Sam would believe it. "It's not that, Sam."

"Dean, I'm not accusing you of anything here. Like I said, I'm _worried_. If you are sleepwalking that means you're not really resting and you're gonna crash hard."

"You don't have to worry about me. I've got everything under control."

"Dad wouldn't want you running yourself ragged like this."

Dean ground his teeth. "Dad would be all for it if it kept the shop open, Sam, and you know it."

"Dean...."

"Gotta go. Customer's supposed to show up for an estimate any second." He hung up before Sam could start arguing, then leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling for a good long while. He felt bad about the fib but he didn't want to keep the argument going; it wasn't leading anywhere and if Sam got worried enough Dean knew there was a good chance he'd fly back home to check on him and he didn't want to be responsible for Sam's perfect GPA taking that hit. 

Dean fished that little post-it note out of his pocket and looked at it, trying to make out the scratched out words and taking in the elegant loops of the two simple words whoever it was had decided on. Finally he really did need to get to work and put the note back in his pocket, shaking off Sam's concern and his own worry that Sam might be right. 

For the first time in a long, long while Dean thought he actually might be doing okay.

*** 

Dean decided it was high time he reorganized his shop. Dean had a system but even he would admit that calling the place cluttered would be putting it mildly; he knew where everything was down to every spare lug nut but he hadn't shared the workspace with anyone since Sam had gone off to school. Just because he could find everything didn't mean it wouldn't be a chore to someone else. 

The reorganizing took most of the day but Dean thought it was time well spent. When he stepped back and examined his nice neat rows of tools he felt a little surge of pride; this was how his father had kept the shop, that Marine spit shine living on in gleaming shelves and spotless floors. Seeing the place like this made Dean remember being a little kid and afraid to touch anything. 

He grabbed another post-it note and wrote _Thought this might make things easier_ across one of the now so neat it almost hurt to look at them shelves.

The next day he found the note sitting on the front seat of the Firebird, four lines of scratched out writing underneath his message, enough to take up the rest of the space on the note. Dean tried to picture whoever it was sitting in that front seat, staring at the note and trying to think of something to say. 

That they'd failed was actually better. Dean tucked the new note into the same pocket as the first one, whistling as he got to work.


	2. Chapter 2

In Dean's own defense, he'd been planning on getting a security system forever. It made clients feel better knowing that their babies were being left in a secure shop (Dean had heard of more than one guy who set up dummy cameras to get that confidence without having to foot the bill) and installing a system would drop him down an insurance bracket. He just hadn't been able to scrape together the money until now, but with business picking up there was no real reason to keep putting things off.

So there were plenty of good reasons to set up cameras in the shop that had nothing to do with getting a glimpse of his night owl friend. Dean told himself that story all through the installation, and that he paid extra so the guys would install everything in one day was just because he wanted to minimize how long he'd have to deal with technicians stomping all over his shop and disturbing his stuff. Didn't have anything at all to do with the worry that if the job was left overnight his mysterious helper would take one look and realize what Dean was up to.

Dean told himself a lot of little fairy stories over that day. He didn't get anything done besides supervising the work and getting in everyone's way. It kept him from second guessing himself, because every time he looked at those cameras he had the worry he was killing the golden goose crept up his spine. Maybe he shouldn't be looking at this too closely. Things were actually going right for a change, the smart thing would be to just be _happy_ with that and stop trying to create problems.

Every time that worry was about to overwhelm him he took those two little notes out of his pocket. Whoever this was, he or she hadn't needed to write anything back to him. It could have stayed a mystery, there was no reason for Mystery Whatever to even give confirmation of their existence at all. Let Dean continue to wonder if he was going crazy, sleepwalking through his shop and leaving notes for himself. 

The only explanation Dean could come up with was that whoever this was wanted Dean to know who they were. Dean may have been the first to reach out, but his silent partner reached right back.

That first night Dean didn't sleep at all, too wound up wondering what was being recorded on that camera. The following morning he got up with the sun and took the tape out of the camera, rushing back to the house review it.

The fiction that the cameras had ever been about anything but catching his helpful intruder fell apart as he watched. The recording was perfectly normal until midnight; once the time clicked over to 12:00 there was a second of distortion and Dean leaned forward, his heart pounding against his ribs. Then the distortion cleared though Dean saw nothing, just the shop exactly as it had been at 11:59. He was just about to turn off the recording in disgust when he noticed something strange up at the corner of the screen. 

One of the wrenches moved on its own. Dean felt his mouth hang open as machinery turned on and tools began floating in midair like they'd been possessed. He paused the picture, advanced frame by frame, but that revealed nothing; the hood of the Firebird popped open as if the car had decided it needed some air and Dean started to re-evaluate the idea that he might actually be going crazy after all.

He watched the surreal scene for a few more minutes before he finally spotted something even stranger – whatever was in the shop must have passed in front of the lights and cast a shadow on the wall. Dean knew shadows weren't the most accurate way to measure things but the shadow looked _enormous_ , taking up the entire wall. As Dean watched, though, Dean also thought it looked human shaped, the width of the shoulders and lines of movement making Dean think it might even be man-shaped.

But not just human shaped. Dean could make out curved shapes coming from what Dean took to be its shoulders, shadows that looked almost like fins, or.... 

Dean leaned forward a little more, looking at the soft edges of those shadows as opposed to the more solid lines of the body, and at the way they flared out when the transmission started sparking.

Or like wings.

Dean sat for the rest of the day watching that recording, those strange shadows and hovering tools, until the recording stopped itself. Dean continued to sit in the dark room for a while afterward, remembering the way those shadows had flared out and wondering.

***

The supply closet was a tighter squeeze than Dean had expected. Short of hunkering down in the Firebird's backseat it was the only real hiding place in the shop though, and Dean endured the cramps in his shoulders and fought the urge to check his watch for the hundredth time. It had seemed like the only way when he'd come up with the plan, such as it was: whoever it was skulking around in his shop at night, he didn't show up on cameras, like some vampire from a bad B-movie. He was solid though, he cast shadows, and if Dean spent one more night not knowing exactly what was going on in his shop he thought he really would crack up.

As clear as this course of action had seemed when he'd closed himself in the closet, Dean started to feel pretty ridiculous as the minutes ticked by. Here he was, hunched over in a closet waiting to ambush some invisible thing who just appeared in his place every night and fixed cars while Dean slept. The feeling that he was asking the gift horse to open wide came over him again and Dean tried to think about what he'd do if him jumping out did scare off whoever this was. The business was finally getting back to being in the black and here he was, trying to ruin everything.

But he had to know. This had gone on too long and Dean couldn't hold out for one more day.

He checked his watch again just as the time clicked over to midnight and heard a soft fluttering sound he couldn't identify. Through the cracks around door he saw the shop lights click on but when he tried to peer through the cracks his vantage point didn't show him anything, although he could hear the scrape of metal against metal as the work started.

Well. Dean guessed it was time to go big or go home. He swung open the cabinet door and stepped out, keeping his movements quiet. The Firebird's hood was up and Dean couldn't see who was behind it – nothing but a quick flash of white. "Hey," Dean said after a few long seconds. "Who the hell are you?"

Dean heard a clatter of dropped tools as whoever was under the hood dove for cover behind the car, absolutely the last reaction Dean would have expected. "Hey," he said again, approaching the Firebird slowly. "It's okay." He saw the curve of what were unmistakably white wings come up into view and Dean stepped closer, his hands up to show they were empty. "No one's gonna hurt you, you can come out." 

Finally after a few tense minutes Dean saw a head of messy dark hair peek up over the front fender, wary blue eyes watching Dean and his lips twisted into a rueful frown as those white wings curled over his shoulders. "You're not supposed to see me," he said, his voice a soft, surprisingly deep rasp.

"Yeah, well. Not knowing what was going on in my own shop was driving me nuts." The stranger's gaze dropped, as if he had to cede that point. "I'm Dean."

The other man's lips twitched up for a moment. "I know your name, Dean." He stood up and Dean took a surprised step back; he'd assumed at first that he'd just been shirtless, which would make sense considering the wings, but Dean could see now that he was absolutely stark naked. And didn't seem at all self-conscious about it. "My name is Castiel."

Dean didn't know where to look. "Um. Okay," he said, trying to force himself to stop blushing through sheer force of will. He supposed the face was safe, at least; Castiel's skin was almost inhumanely pale, like the moon at night, but he had incongruous dark stubble along his jaw. His ears tapered off to delicate points Dean couldn't stop staring at. "So, what's with the...." Dean trailed off, gesturing at his own ears. 

Castiel tilted his head to the side, as if it took him a second to figure out what Dean was getting at. "I'm an elf."

Like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. "An...elf." Dean took another good look at him. "Elves have wings."

"Of course we do." As if Dean was the one spouting the crazy talk. Castiel picked up a screwdriver from the floor and moved to lean back under the open hood. 

Dean couldn't keep the question back any more. "Why are you _naked_?" 

Castiel glanced back at him over the hood of the car, his brows furrowed. "Because you haven't given me anything to wear."

"Oh. I mean, do you want me to...?"

"Not if you want me to finish this."

Dean nodded. Okay, that didn't make much sense but he had a naked winged elf in his shop poking at the transmission of a classic Firebird. The definition of "making sense" was going to have to do some adjusting. "Okay, but...I mean, do you want me to turn up the heat or something? The shop's kept kind of cold...."

"The cold doesn't bother me."

Dean supposed that made sense if these things walked around naked all time. "Do you guys not feel it?"

"Why would not being bothered by temperature mean I didn't feel?"

Dean saw the wings bristle as he said that, like he'd been annoyed by the question. He hoped Castiel never took up poker because those wings were the biggest tell Dean had ever seen. "How do you keep those from getting tangled in things?"

Castiel looked up at the wings, letting out a soft sigh. "They do manage to get in the way more often than I'd like."

Castiel went back to work and Dean moved to a better vantage point, leaning against the wall and watching him for a few quiet minutes. Castiel flinched back as something sparked and Dean grinned. "The transmission's a bitch, huh."

The wings folded back as he looked back up at Dean, that rueful twist back to his lips. "It has been vexing."

Dean let a few more minutes go by before working up the nerve to speak again. "So what's the deal with all this, Cas?"

Castiel looked up again. "You were in need," he said, and Dean was surprised at how glad he was that he hadn't corrected the name. "I was sent to assist you and now I'm bound to your service."

Dean didn't think he liked the way that sounded at all. "Wait. You mean you're being forced to come here?"

Castiel's head tilted to the side again, as if he didn't understand that question at all. "This is the purpose I was created for, Dean. What else would I do?"

"So what's the deal, here?" Dean said, pushing that aside. "How long will you be coming around?"

"I'm bound to you until you no long require the assistance or until you dismiss me."

"You want me to dismiss you?" He tried to ignore how his stomach dropped at that thought.

Dean was a little ashamed at how relieved he was that Castiel didn't seem to think much of the idea either. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked, blue eyes flooded with alarm.

"No! No, you've been great."

"Are you dissatisfied with my work? Could I do something better?"

"Cas, seriously, no. Hate to say it, but I think you're better at this than I am."

"Then why would you ask me that?"

Dean ran his tongue over his lips. "I'm glad for the help, don't get me wrong, but I don't want a slave either."

Castiel just gave him that confused look again. "If you dismissed me I would be bound to someone else."

Dean didn't much like the idea of that, either. "Would you rather work for someone else?"

Castiel stroked his fingertips against the Firebird's hood. "I don't like to leave work unfinished."

Dean could identify with that. "You want some help?"

Castiel shook his head. "I'm supposed to do this alone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to see you and we're talking right now."

Castiel sighed, his wings folding back in frustration again. "I have rules I have to follow, Dean."

Dean just raised an eyebrow at him. "How about I work on adjusting that front wheel alignment while you poke at the transmission some more? Or is it a hard and fast rule that I can't work on something in my own shop while you're here?"

Castiel frowned, drumming his fingers against the hood as he pondered that. "I suppose that's not _explicitly_ forbidden."

"Cool." Dean got out the tire iron and waved Castiel back as he jacked up the car enough to get off the wheels. "How'd you learn to do all this, anyway? They have tech schools over in elf-land?"

Castiel's lips quirked up again at that. "I know what I'm required to know. I've done many things over the centuries. Taken in harvests, cobbled shoes. I spent two months in Medieval France blowing glass when the artisan who owned the shop took ill with the plague. There's a cathedral in Germany where over half the stained-glass windows were crafted by my hands. I even spent half a year illuminating manuscripts. The monk I served took me for an angel when he saw me and wouldn't be dissuaded." Dean grinned at the flash of annoyance on Castiel's face. "Many things over the centuries. I've been a cooper more times than I care to remember." 

"Coopers...make barrels, right?"

Castiel nodded. "It's _incredibly_ tedious."

Dean got a kick out of hearing this seemingly immortal thing bitch about work like any normal Joe. "Hey, the whiskey drinkers of the world salute you."

Castiel buffed a smudge off of the Firebird's hood. "I enjoy this kind of work," he said softly. "Restoring something that's been neglected to its former beauty. I find it very satisfying."

It was like finding a kindred spirit. "I hear you there." When he crouched along the other side of the car to get the second wheel off he was close enough for long pin feathers of Castiel's wing to brush against his arm. "I'm pretty sure I was two months from losing the shop before you came by," he said, not looking up. "So thanks for that."

Dean wondered if Castiel knew his wing was touching Dean. "Is your business secure now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Getting there, anyway."

He looked up to see a satisfied glint in Castiel's eye. "Good."

Dean decided to press his luck and reached his arm up, just enough to intentionally brush against those white feathers. He saw Castiel's hand grip tight around the screwdriver he was holding and knew he had definitely felt that. And even better, he didn't move the wing away. Dean took his time with the wheel, not wanting to break this strange spell started by that chance contact, the silence stretching so long he startled when Castiel spoke again. "People rarely try to communicate with me. And I've never had someone try to accommodate me before."

"Yeah. I saw you had a hard time replying to that second note."

Castiel blushing was kind of awesome. "I couldn't find the right words."

"Thanks is always good."

Castiel was quite for a few seconds, like he couldn't quite find those words, either. "Thank you."

Dean wondered if he was just imagining that Castiel had intentionally brushed his wing against Dean's arm. "You're welcome, Cas."

They worked together for the next few hours in peaceful quiet. Dean didn't even notice the time passing until he heard that strange flutter of wings; he looked up to find Castiel gone, the first light of dawn streaming through the shop windows.

***

The next day at midnight Dean was waiting with two six-packs of beers when Castiel fluttered into the shop. He got a kick out of the flash of surprise on Cas' face, wondering how often something so old managed to get surprised. "Dean," he said, his wings flaring out. "I...I didn't expect you."

Dean held up one of the six packs. "It against any of those rules of yours to have a beer while you work?" 

Castiel did that head tilt Dean was starting to like seeing a lot. "I don't believe so."

"Good," he said, tossing one of the cans to Cas. "Let that settle before you open it."

Castiel nodded, placing it on one of the counters before crouching beside the car. "Why did you stay up?"

Dean shrugged. "Felt like it. Couldn't sleep. Does it matter?" In truth, the harsh light of day had made Dean start to wonder if any of the previous night had ever really happened. He'd even started to call Sam to see what he thought before realizing he had no idea how to start explaining this. "Am I bugging you?"

It actually looked like Castiel took a second to consider that. "No," he finally said. "As long as you allow me to work."

"Hey, that's what we're here for, right?" Dean picked up his tools and started banging out the dents in the driver's side door and Castiel promptly went back to focusing on his task like Dean wasn't there. Which Dean didn't really mind, since it gave him the chance to take a good long look. The shock of finding Castiel in his shop the night before had made it hard to focus on anything other than _Holy shit_ but now Dean took a careful inventory, watching the muscles move under Castiel's skin as he worked. He was the only person Dean had ever met who the shop lights actually flattered, that pale skin almost glowing under the florescent lights, a faintly inhuman luminescence. Dean liked the way the bright white feathers contrasted against that skin and the dark of his hair, casting shadows over his face that brought out the blue of his eyes.

Dean knew he was staring and had a hard time forcing himself to stop. "Hey, Cas," he said, trying to make himself focus on something else. "How many people have gotten a look at you over the years?"

Castiel frowned, tapping his wrench against the car. "A handful," he finally said. "Most people I serve are content to accept their good fortune."

Dean didn't miss the accusatory slant to the words, although he didn't think Cas was actually upset. "If most people can't be bothered to find out what's going on under their own roof they don't deserve any kind of help." He didn't add that it seemed like a waste for Castiel to look like that with no one to appreciate it. "What kind of a reaction do you get?"

"It varies. As I said, the monk began singing hosannas."

"You didn't act like you expected that from me. I ambushed you and you hit the deck."

Castiel's expression went distant in a way Dean didn't like. "Not everyone has a...positive reaction. I've learned to be cautious."

"How many times have you had people take swings at you?"

"Not many. Still, one person coming at you with a sword is more than enough. And I haven't enjoyed how common personal firearms have become over the past two centuries."

All Dean had to do was imagine how his father would have reacted to finding someone he didn't know in his shop past dark to guess how that would go. "And then after that you'd have to come right back and work for them again, huh."

Castiel shrugged. "As I said, it's rare that anyone sees me at all, let alone attempts violence."

"Still don't like it."

Castile quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "You're very concerned for my welfare."

"You saved my business. I'd be the biggest dick in the world if I wasn't."

"It's never happened before."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Then you've worked for a lot of dicks over the years, Cas." Castiel didn't answer and Dean satisfied himself with watching those long fingers of his work. "Can't get over how you don't get dirty. I work a full day and I'm covered in oil."

Castiel almost smiled at that. "My nature does have a few advantages." Dean saw him take a breath, like he'd been about to say something and thought better about it. "Could you come over here and hold this aside?" he asked after a few more minutes went by, not looking at Dean. "It's...my view is obstructed." 

There was a quaver in his voice that made Dean wonder if that had been a risky question. "You sure that's okay?"

Castiel shrugged, an attempt to be casual that failed miserably. "It's no different than using a tool to hold it back," he said, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

If Cas was good with it Dean sure as hell had no objections. "Sure." Dean walked over and moved aside the part Castiel indicated; he stayed quiet when Castiel moved his hand over another inch, even though he didn't think that was really necessary for Castiel to see. 

"There," Castiel said, that faint quaver back in his voice. "Just like that." 

Dean focused on keeping his eyes fixed on the engine; Cas felt like he ran a few degrees warmer than a human and all Dean could think about was that he was close enough to feel that body heat, close enough to hear him breathing. There wasn't room for the two of them to stand in front of the car without touching, especially with the wings; Castiel had to curl his left wing around Dean to fit and each inadvertent touch felt like a tiny jolt of electricity. Dean couldn't remember the last time just standing next to someone could get him hard like this. 

It felt like a thousand years passed before Castiel finally said, "All right. You can let go," that low rasp in his voice hitting Dean low in his stomach. Dean let go and backed away, afraid that if he even looked at Castiel what he'd just been thinking about would be all over his face.

"Cool," he said, wiping his hands on a rag and looking at the floor. "I'm gonna head up to bed, okay Cas? You call me if you need anything, okay?"

Castiel nodded, his eyes locked on his work – although Dean thought he saw them glance his way just as he turned toward the door. The thought that Cas might be checking him out when he thought Dean wasn't looking just the way Dean did the same got Dean so hard it hurt.

Once he got back to his bedroom he stripped down and dropped to the bed, his mind full of those long fingers and white wings and the way that pale skin glowed under the shop lights. He stroked up his shaft as he imagined grabbing thick handfuls of those feathers, imagined Castiel's body arching up under his, those hands he couldn't stop staring at clenching into Dean's sheets. He pumped his fist up and down as he thought about those blue eyes going wide, that voice that had already gotten into Dean's dreams breaking on Dean's name, the low, deep moans he'd let out as Dean pushed him beyond words, right before that inhuman self-control broke and Dean made him scream, made him shake and howl as the climax rushed through him.

Dean felt his head snap back as his own orgasm hit, sending sensation through his legs and up his spine. He lay there limp and spent for a few minutes; he'd never come that hard by himself, had never even come close.

Dean closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but the beautiful, _naked_ thing only yards away in his shop and how fucking over his head in all this he already was.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean made a point of being there every night when Cas showed up, even if some nights he only stayed long enough for the two of them to share a beer (staying up all night on a regular basis was a real bad idea when you worked around heavy equipment all day.) Castiel never asked for his help again, making Dean wonder if that hadn't been some kind of transgression after all. Dean didn't push, although the temptation to create an excuse to get that close to Castiel again was hard to deny. Dean had to content himself with doing detail work on the Firebird and trying not to be completely obvious about the staring – _ogling_ , if he was going to be completely honest. But if Cas had noticed he hadn't mentioned it, so Dean could at least tell himself the guy didn't mind.

Still, it made him feel like a lech and the last thing Dean ever wanted was to feel like he was in the way in his own shop. "I'm gonna call it a night, Cas," he said, knocking back the last of his beer. 

"Goodnight, Dean," Cas answered, already starting the mechanical lift to hoist the car up and sliding underneath. 

Dean was halfway up the stairs when he heard a sharp cry of pain. He froze mid-step, his heart pounding so hard he could hear the blood rushing through his ears. "Cas?" There was no answer and Dean ran back down, pausing by the shop door. "Cas, you okay?" The only answer was a moan that went through Dean like a knife; he threw open the door and for a second all Dean could think was _Fuck, that's a **lot** of blood._

Castiel was sitting on the floor next to the lift and for a horrified instant Dean thought one of his wings had been torn off. Then he moved and Dean realized that was just the angle but the relief fell away when he rushed toward Cas and saw that while the right wing was still in one piece the white feathers were rapidly turning red with blood. "Cas," he said, kneeling next to him and tipping up his chin to force eye contact. "Cas, what happened?" 

Castiel's eyes were so wide Dean could see white circling the blue irises. "I...I got tangled," he said, his voice dazed.

"I told you those wings would get you in trouble," Dean said, keeping his low. Cas was already shaking hard and Dean knew he had to stop the bleeding before the shock got any worse. Castiel tried to move his wing away when Dean went to touch it, the movement making him whimper. "Shh, Cas," Dean soothed, putting one hand on his shoulder. "Let me take a look at it, okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, trying to get back to his feet, something Dean put a stop to right away.

"Yeah, you are really not." Castiel reached for his dropped wrench, his hand trembling so hard he could barely hold onto it, and Dean put a stop to that too. "Cas, _stop that_. Let me help you."

"I have to get back to work," he said, the way the words slurred together sending fear spiraling through Dean's gut. 

His eyes started to lose focus and Dean snapped his fingers right in his face. "Cas!" He said, relieved when that shocked him back to awareness. "You are losing a lot of blood. You understand? You have to let me help."

Castiel's brow furrowed, making Dean think that maybe he really _didn't_ understand. "I'll be fine," he said again. "I always am. The dawn will restore me."

"You sure? Losing this much blood is one of the things that tend to kill people."

Cas shook his head. "We can die, but not from this."

That made Dean feel a little better, although he still couldn't be sure that wasn't the shock talking. "Okay, fine. I still want you to let me patch you up. I can't have you bleeding all over my shop." That seemed to be the right argument; Cas finally nodded and Dean didn't think he'd ever been so relieved in his life. "Good. You sit right there for a second, okay?"

Dean got up and grabbed his first aid kit and knelt back beside Castiel, pressing a clean towel against the gash in his wing. Cas whined high in his throat as Dean felt his way up the wing, sweat beading up across his forehead but all Dean cared about was that nothing seemed to be broken. "You're one lucky son of a bitch, Cas," Dean said, checking to see if the bleeding had slowed.

"Am I?" he said, as if he wasn't sure whether Dean was making fun of him.

"I've seen some scary things happen in shops, Cas. Trust me, you're lucky."

After a few more minutes the bleeding had mostly stopped and Dean took out the roll of bandages and started wrapping the wing. The instant he was done Castiel tried to get up again, forcing Dean grab him around the waist to pull him back down. "Stop that."

"I have to get back to work," he said again, shivering so hard the words shook.

"Yeah, well right now you're taking a break. C'mon, I'll lay you down up in the house...." 

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I...I can't leave the work area." Dean took a second to debate the wisdom of just dragging him out and decided the risk that Cas would fight him made it not worth it. He propped Castiel against a nearby wall instead and ducked into the hall closet to grab the old quilt he'd thrown in there months before. By the time he got back Castiel had already pulled himself back to his knees and was reaching for the wrench again. "Dude," Dean said, pulling him back against the wall and wrapping the quilt around him. " _Stop that._ What is your problem?"

"I have to get back to work," he said again, even as he snuggled into the warmth of the quilt.

"Wait," Dean said, his eyes narrowing. "You mean you _have_ to work, don't you. This is one of your rules." Castiel just gave him a miserable look that told Dean everything he needed to know. "Okay," he said, smothering the hot flash of rage under his skin. "Okay, but you're gonna take a breather if I have to hold you down and force you to," he said, putting his hands on Castiel's shoulders to make the point.

Castiel looked up into Dean's eyes for a few moments before slumping against the wall, apparently accepting that Dean was serious. Dean sat beside him on the floor, keeping one hand on his shoulder just in case. He felt Cas shiver and tucked the quilt closer around him. "You said you were 'always' fine, Cas,” he said, to keep him awake as much as anything. "This happen a lot?" 

"Enough," he sighed, resting his head against Dean's shoulder as if holding it up himself was just too much effort. "This is a mild injury compared to some others. I'm much more careful around threshers now."

Dean winced. "Jesus, Cas. Thanks for that nightmare."

Castiel craned his head to look at Dean. "Do you dream about me?"

Dean felt his cheeks flush and hoped Cas was too out of it to notice. "If I did, would that be a problem?"

Castiel gave him a confused look, as if he couldn't imagine why Dean would think that. "We don't sleep," he said, his head back against Dean's shoulder. "I wonder what I would dream about?"

"Dreams aren't always awesome, Cas. You might be better off." He traced just his fingertips along Cas' bloodstained wing. "How about I clean you up a little bit, huh? I'll be careful, I promise."

Castile nodded. "If you like."

"You move and I'll punch you." That seemed to confuse Castiel enough for him to stay put while Dean got a damp cloth and a bowl of warm water; Cas sighed as Dean started washing the blood out of the feathers, his eyelids fluttering. "You okay? This hurt?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, it doesn't."

Dean grinned and kept going, glad for the excuse to finally touch his wings even if he never would have wanted Cas to get hurt first. Cas sighed again, a contented little sound that made Dean want to keep doing this for as long as he possibly could. Before too long though he'd done all he could without reopening the wound and Castiel was starting to squirm with impatience, the threat that Dean would hold him down starting to lose its bite. "Dean, I can't remain idle this long." 

Dean took a good look at him, worrying his lip; the shakes had mostly gone away but he was way paler than Dean cared to see, and his hands were still trembling. "I don't think you're good to be let loose around machinery yet. How about this," he said, before Castiel could start arguing. "What do you say I do some work on the Firebird and you hand me the tools, huh? Would that count as working?"

Castiel's lips pressed to a thin line as he mulled that over. "I...perhaps," he said, and Dean realized how lousy he must be feeling if he was going for this.

"Cool." He dragged over his toolbox and started working on the busted taillight, staying close enough to Castiel that they could touch if they both reached out their arms. "Okay, hand me the Phillips." Dean kept asking for a new tool every five minutes whether he needed one or not, until after a few rounds Castiel didn't respond when he asked for a socket wrench. Dean crept back over, panic grabbing him by the throat until he could reassure himself Cas was breathing. As quietly as he could Dean sat back down beside him; he knew you weren't supposed to let people in shock fall asleep but Castiel's pulse was strong when he checked it and anyway, he didn't know what shock even meant for someone who could apparently fall into a thresher and wake up the next morning just fine. The quilt had fallen off his shoulder and Dean tucked it back around him, wondering what he should do now. 

Then Cas made the decision for him, snuggling against Dean with his head on his shoulder and his good wing curled tight around him, murmuring something in a language Dean didn't know. "Okay, okay, I'll stay," Dean groused, settling back against the wall. As if he could actually ever be able to go up to his warm bed knowing Castiel was down here alone. “And you guys totally can sleep, whether you need to or not,” he said, checking his pulse again. Dean didn't know how long he sat there listening to Castiel breathe before finally falling asleep himself; he woke with the dawn, the quilt tucked around his own shoulders and the soft flutter of wings echoing in his ears.

***

Dean couldn't even put words to how relieved he was to see Castiel appear safe and sound and whole at midnight. "Hey, Cas," Dean said, tossing him the customary first beer of the night.

"Hello, Dean." It was almost as if the previous night had never happened. He tilted his head, brows furrowing. "Are you all right?"

"Am _I_...?" Dean let the words fade into a disbelieving chuckle. "Yeah, Cas, I'm fine. I'm just glad to see you're fine."

"I did tell you," he said, starting to work on the rust along the Firebird's roof (and staying away from the lift, Dean noticed.) 

"Still glad to see it." In fact Dean could hardly believe it; if he hadn't known Castiel had been mangled up the night before he never could have guessed. He nursed his beer and managed to watch Cas work for almost a full half hour before his curiosity got the better of him. "You mind if I check out the wing? Just to see for myself."

Castiel didn't even look up. "I told you, it's healed."

"You mind if I take a look anyway?" 

Castiel shrugged, a gesture Dean could tell he'd meant to be casual but was betrayed by the flare of his wings. "As you wish."

Dean grinned as he made his way over. "You been watching The Princess Bride over in Elf land?"

"The what?"

"Never mind, Cas," Dean said, shaking his head. "Maybe one of these nights I'll rig up a TV in here so you can watch while you work." He stood behind Castiel, fighting back the urge to trail his hand down the line of his back now that he had the opportunity in front of him. Instead he stroked his fingers through the soft feathers along the top of the wing, trying to find the spot he'd wrapped the night before. "There we are," he breathed, stroking gently over the skin that had been gashed open hours before. "Here and here." 

He felt Castiel quiver and froze. "That hurt?"

"No," Cas said, too quickly. Dean noticed he was breathing harder than a few seconds ago. "Are you satisfied?"

If that wasn't the most loaded question Dean had ever heard. "You do look healed up," he allowed, going back to stroking along the top wing and over the curve of the joint. "Wish I could heal myself like this whenever I got hurt."

"I doubt you would care for the other requirements." 

Dean knew he had a point there. Castiel sighed as Dean started massaging the site of the injury, a breathy little sound that went straight to Dean's groin. Dean kept massaging his way up the wing, the silky feathers sliding between his fingers. Castiel shivered and Dean stepped closer. "Thought you didn't get cold, Cas," he whispered into his ear.

"I'm not cold."

Dean chuckled, feeling him shiver again as he made a point of breathing against his ear as he pulled away, the delicate point all but begging Dean to lick it. He moved on to the other wing and repeated the process, drawing a deep urgent sound from Castiel that Dean wanted to hear again immediately. "Dean, that...that wing wasn't injured."

"That okay?"

Castiel just breathed hard for a few long seconds. "As...as long it's not too distracting."

Dean wondered if that was the best green light Cas could give. Either way, Castiel hadn't said stop and Dean didn't intend to. He could see that Cas was hard, a flush coloring his inhumanly pale skin. It took all of his self-control to keep his hands limited to the wings when all he wanted to do was to turn Castiel around and kiss him until neither of them could breathe, to push him into the back seat of the car they were putting back together and take him apart with every trick Dean knew and then drag him upstairs and do it all over again. 

But there was definitely something to taking time to savor the moment. Dean started at the tip, massaging with deliberate, teasing slowness as he worked his way back in. There was a spot near the biggest joint that made Castiel jump, his breath stuttering in his chest as he tried to regain control and Dean was merciless, working the spot until Castiel made a desperate little sound somewhere between a whine and a moan. Dean moved on then, over the joint and into the strong muscles closer to the base, feeling them go loose and pliant under his fingers. "Dean," Castiel whimpered, holding onto the empty driver's side window frame to hold himself up. 

"What, Cas?" Dean whispered back, keeping his voice low and teasing. He started massaging the bases of both wings and Castiel moaned, his hands going tight on the door frame. He was so hard Dean knew he must be aching from it. Dean found another sensitive spot and Cas' whole body bucked against him, a single, convulsive movement and God, Dean was wearing too many clothes.

"Dean," Castiel forced out. "This...this is very distracting."

"You want me to stop?" Dean said, working the sensitive spot some more. "Say the word. Tell me to stop and I will."

Castiel just moaned again, his hands so tight on the door Dean could see the white in his knuckles. "I...I can't work like this."

There was a plea there but Dean wasn't sure if he was asking Dean to stop or begging him to finish. "Tell me to stop."

Castiel just let out a long, shuddery breath. " _Dean_ ," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Dean reluctantly stepped back, giving Castiel space to regain his composure. "Okay. Wouldn't want to keep you from working," he said, probably the worst lie he'd ever told in his life. 

Castiel nodded. "Thank you for understanding."

Dean reached out to smooth some of the feathers he'd left ruffled. "I'm gonna head upstairs," he said, not missing how the wing stretched into the touch.

He also didn't miss how Castiel stared after him as he left.

*** 

They finished the Firebird two days before the due date and Dean pocketed a nice big early delivery bonus. Roman gave him the promise of future business but cautioned that it might not be for another week, which was just fine with Dean; between the restoration and the regular day business Dean had not only gotten up to date on his debts but he actually had a little cushion of money to put away. The experience was such a novelty that Dean had to remind himself to put it in the banks and not blow it on the best bottle of booze he could find, and it was still a pretty big temptation.

Business was actually in a bit of a lull at the moment; he expected it to pick up by the end of the week, there was a Chrysler with a blown engine being towed in once the owner got back in town and he'd gotten a call earlier that day about doing some work with the car lot up the road to spiff up their older cars to get a better price, but at the moment he actually didn't have any unfinished jobs in the shop. He couldn't remember the last time he'd carved himself a night off and didn't intend to waste it, splurging just a little bit on two six packs of microbrew to split between himself and Cas and actually rigging up the TV in the shop so he could show Castiel the movies he kept referencing so Cas could finally start getting his jokes. 

Dean counted the seconds until midnight, hardly able to stand waiting to see the surprise on Cas' face.

But that night Castiel never showed.

***

The next day started by getting hit by a glut of work from a five car pile-up on the freeway, which on the bright side meant Dean was so busy he couldn't dwell on how fucking _pissed off_ he was at Cas. Dean knew the anger was irrational – he doubted Cas would intentionally stand him up – but Dean let it sit at the back of his mind anyway because at least that meant he couldn't entertain the other festering emotions that sent bile up the back of his throat. Castiel was too insistent that he had to work for him to just decide to take a night off; if he wasn't in the shop Dean knew that meant he'd spent the night with someone else and he would never have expected that thought to burn the way it did. He wondered who it had been, what job they needed that had been magically shoved into Castiel's head. 

Whether whoever it was had seen him. 

By the time midnight rolled around Dean still had shattered husks of cars littering his shop and he was more than a little drunk. When he heard that flutter of wings he felt a quick stab of relief go through him. He realized then that if Cas really had stood him up two nights in a row he would do everything in his power to make sure the streak didn't go to three.

But that didn't matter now because Castiel was standing there in front of him and Dean took a swallow from the whiskey bottle he'd been working on the past hour, fighting the urge to punch him in the mouth. "The hell were you last night?" 

He couldn't believe Castiel had the nerve to look affronted. "You didn't have any work for me. I was sent elsewhere."

Dean wasn't usually this mean a drunk. "Just like that? Not even a word, huh?"

"You didn't require my aid. I'm sent to where I'm needed, I told you that the first night you saw me." He looked around, taking in the mess consuming most of Dean's shop. "What happened in here?"

"A mess on the freeway. Did some work a while back for one of the highway cops who got called to it and he thought he was doing me a favor by giving out referrals." Dean shook his head, putting the bottle down. "I forgot. We've been doing this long enough now that I forgot that you're not here because you want to be."

Castiel had already started evaluating the demolished front end of the Chevy that had caused the accident and while he didn't look up Dean felt his eyes flick up toward him for an instant. "When did I say I didn't want to be here?"

Dean tried his best to ignore how that made his chest squeeze tight for an instant. "So what was wrong with the poor slob they sent you to last night?"

"His temper, from what I could see."

"He got a look at you?"

"I've apparently gotten much worse at deception since meeting you."

Dean could only scoff at that, walking over to join Cas in evaluating the damage. "Dude, you sucked at it then, too." He watched Castiel from the corner of his eye, noting the uncharacteristically tight lines around his eyes and doubting it was because he was mourning for the Chevy. "Bad scene last night, huh?" 

That made his jaw go tight for a moment, too. "He was...displeased to find me there."

"He put his hands on you?"

Dean knew he'd utterly failed to keep the anger out of his voice and could tell Castiel had caught it. "I'm quite capable of defending myself, Dean."

Castiel shrugged as he spoke but Dean could see the tension in how Castiel held his wings flat over his back. "That was my fault," Dean said. "Forgot the rule." Castiel shrugged again, his wings spreading forward to shade his face the way someone with long hair might hide behind it without realizing. "Worried you wouldn't come back," Dean admitted. He hoped Castiel could take that mushiness as the mea culpa he'd intended.

Castiel actually paused in his work for a second, staring up at Dean with that intense, direct look that marked him as inhuman even more than his ears and wings. "I told you, Dean. I'm bound to you until you either no longer have need of me or until you dismiss me.” 

Dean tried to shrug off how the undertone to those words wrapped around him like a snake. "Good thing I have all this crap littering up my shop then, huh?"

Dean had never known anything could make him feel the way dragging that reluctant smile out of Castiel did, the one that always came and went in the blink of an eye like a guilty secret. 

*** 

Castiel frowned at the tarp-covered lump sitting in the middle of the shop. "Dean, what is this?"

"A little project." Dean pulled off the tarp, revealing the crushed and twisted wreckage of a black Chevy Impala. It always hit like a punch to the chest, seeing his baby mangled like this. "She's been like this since the accident," Dean said, hoping it didn't show on his face how often he had guilty nightmares about that. "With Dad gone I just...." He just shook his head; if he still couldn't find words after all this time he doubted he ever would. "And then I got so backed up with trying to run the shop by myself and getting Sam squared away at school that I couldn't find time to fix her up. I wanted to do it right, not in fits and starts like those jackasses who restore cars in their back yards, y'know?" He doubted Castiel did but at least the guy was starting to get the hang of rhetorical questions. "But it's time now. Long past time. And if it's a slow day around here this way there'll always be something to work on."

He wasn't even sure Castiel heard; his eyes were narrowed as he looked the car over, trailing his fingers along the chrome on the right side door. "This will take a very long time.”

Dean grinned. "That's the plan."


	4. Chapter 4

"Why does my state of undress bother you so much?"

Dean was so thrown by the question he almost smacked his head on the hood as he straightened up. "Huh?"

"I wouldn't have thought it a difficult question."

Dean wiped his hands off as he tried to figure out what Cas was getting at. "What makes you think it bothers me?"

"You stare."

Well, Dean certainly couldn't deny that. "Guess I'm not as smooth as I thought." He shut the Impala's hood and leaned over it, fighting the urge to let his gaze linger on the curve of Castiel's hipbone because it was seriously not the time. "It's not because I'm bothered, Cas, trust me." Castiel gave him a scoffing look and Dean sighed. "Okay, it's a little...it's just kind of weird, y'know? People don't just walk around naked all the time. It's hard not to stare."

"Nothing's stopping you from matching me."

He said it so casually Dean had no idea if it was just an innocent suggestion or if Cas was flirting. He wondered if flirting was even something elves did. "How about we play a little game, Cas?" Dean said, putting just the hint of a leer into his voice. "I ask you a question, anything I want, and if you answer it something comes off. Like strip twenty questions, although I don't think we'll get to twenty." 

Castiel gave Dean that head tilt of his. "If it would amuse you."

"Yeah. Think it would."

"All right, then."

Dean ran his tongue over his lips, trying to decide where to start. "How old are you?"

Castiel's brow furrowed; he actually stopped working for a few moments, tapping his wrench against his palm as he pondered his answer. "A few millenia," he finally said, and Dean had figured it would be a big number but he hadn't quite expected that big. "I don't know that I could give an exact number, the human calendar's undergone a few revisions over the centuries. Does that suffice?"

"I guess after a few thousand birthdays I would stop counting, too."

"We're not born. We're formed." 

He gave Dean a _look_ and Dean grinned; he slid his watch off his wrist and placed it on the counter behind him. "That totally counts."

Castiel quirked an eyebrow at that, a clear _no it doesn't_ look if Dean had ever seen one, but he didn't press the issue. "What's your next question?"

"What's your full name?"

"Castiel is my full name. We don't use family names the way humans do."

Dean guessed that technically counted and kicked off one boot. "How many of you are there?"

"Five thousand four hundred and fifty two."

Dean couldn't help his eyebrows raising. "No way. How come I've never heard about anything like this happening before?"

"There are billions of humans, Dean. Our population is tiny compared to that and we're rarely seen. Most people believe us to be little more than folktales." He gave Dean a sideways look as he finished fitting the passengers' side window into place. "And that counts as a second question."

Dean rolled his eyes but kicked off the second boot and slid off one sock. "Fine, fine. My turn again." He nodded to Castiel's wings. "Can you fly on those?" 

Castiel frowned for a moment. "Not flight as you understand it." Dean heard that familiar flutter of wings and suddenly Castiel was behind him, so close Dean could feel warm breath on the back of his neck. "It's not flight so much as stepping between realities for a moment," he said, that low voice sinking under Dean's skin. "Although the wings are more of a marker than truly functional. I could 'fly' like this with or without them." Dean heard the flutter again and Castiel reappeared on the opposite side of the car. 

"A marker of what?"

Castiel gave him that look again and Dean peeled off his second sock and pulled off his shirt, rapidly running out of options. "Of my servitude."

"Figured they were just an elf thing," Dean muttered, his gut turning sour. "I guess if you've gotta have a slave collar wings are one of the better ones to have."

Castiel's brows furrowed again as he frowned. "Why do you always get so hostile when I mention my servitude? It's my nature. It makes as much sense as being angry at the color of my hair."

"I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions."

"I hadn't been made aware this game was one-sided. It doesn't seem fair to penalize me for being unable to meet the condition you set." He stepped back from the window, trying to eyeball whether it was in straight.

Dean supposed Castiel did have a point. "Okay, so here's what we'll do. I'll answer your questions, but when I do I get a free one, since you don't have anything to take off. And I'm running out of clothes already anyway."

Castiel nodded. "That's acceptable. I believe you owe me an answer, then."

"I don't like the whole idea of it. I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't want a slave."

Castiel almost looked hurt. "I thought you'd come to look forward to my appearing."

"That's not what I meant. I like you being here but it doesn't mean anything if you're being compelled to be here. Hell, if I were you I don't think I'd be able to look at me."

Castiel shook his head, clearly as befuddled as if Dean had dropped into a foreign language. "I don't resent you, Dean. Have I ever given you that impression?"

Dean crossed his arms. "I don't get why you don't." 

"I've lived as long as I have _because_ of my service, Dean. This would be like asking me to resent air."

"A few thousand years is a hell of a long time not to be able to choose a damn thing about your own life." He looked at Castiel for a long while, wishing for roughly the thousandth time that the guy could be easier to read. "Do I still have any freebies?"

"Assuming I'm lenient and don't count that one, yes, you have one more."

"I gonna go ahead and assume you're doing that." He drummed his hand against the hood of the car. "If you could choose to be anywhere right now, where would you be?" 

Cas' jaw clenched. "I'm not sure I can answer that."

"Sure you can. Gotta be something you'd rather be doing back home."

It wasn't technically a question but Castiel's forehead creased in concentration anyway. "When I'd been sent to that other workshop that one night the only thing I found myself longing for was to be here." His voice was so low Dean had to lean forward to hear it, like he was afraid someone was eavesdropping just out of sight.

Dean knew deep down he'd hoped that would be Cas' answer but he'd never actually believed that would happen. "Why don't you ever stay past dawn?"

"Because at daybreak I'm no longer material as you understand it. I dissipate back to my true form at the dawn and reform again at midnight. You shouldn't take it as a slight." He quirked one eyebrow at Dean. "That question you don't get for free."

Dean complied with the unspoken demand, pulling his belt out of his jeans and letting it drop to the floor. "What do you really look like, then?"

Castiel was quiet for a few moments, his eyes distant. "It's difficult to describe in terms you would understand. Light and...wind. Unformed power. And much, much larger." Castiel gave him that pointed look again and Dean pulled a rag out of his pocket and dropped it to the floor. "That's cheating."

"I'll decide what's cheating, thank you. So why the hell do you show up like this? Why look so close to human? And that's still one question, the second one's just elaborating the first."

"If you say so. And that shouldn't be difficult to understand, human workshops are built for humans. It would be difficult to do any work without hands."

Dean couldn't begin to imagine what it must feel like to be the immense thing Castiel described and then be squeezed and twisted up for hours each night. "Fuck, Cas, you must count the seconds until dawn comes and you're free again."

"You would be surprised." He stroked his fingers along the smooth car door. "Some of my siblings feel that way, of course, but I can't remember that I ever have. My true form is powerful but it comes with its own limitations." He opened the door, frowning when the hinges creaked. "My consciousness is unfettered during my daytime existence but it comes at the sacrifice of sensation," he said, crouching down to poke at the hinges, his eyes shadowed. "Long ago I served a mason and the entire workspace was outdoors. It was the first time I was able to see the sun as it rose and feel the warmth of those first rays before I dissipated. Being able to see the sun in my true form but not feel it any longer was... _difficult_. I've spent more days than I care to admit longing to hear a voice, or lingering in the memory from the night before. I'm sure it sounds very strange to you but much of the time I would rather be here." He glanced up at Dean. "You still have a few questions."

Dean just watched Castiel work for a few minutes, remembering that first night when Castiel had let his wing brush against Dean's arm. "Did you like it when I touched your wings that one night?" Dean already knew the answer to that – getting him that hard again was how a lot of his favorite dreams started – but he wanted to hear it.

He didn't expect Castiel to blush bright red, but that was a pretty good answer. "Enduring the day afterward was difficult," he admitted, again in that almost confessional whisper. 

There went the jeans. Dean remembered how hard Cas had breathed as Dean massaged his fingers into those silky feathers, how he'd watched Cas get hard and how it had taken every single ounce of willpower to keep his hands where they'd belonged. "Do you elves have sex?"

Castiel almost choked when he heard the question. "We _can_."

Dean grinned as he dropped his boxers to the floor. "Well? Whattya think?" 

Dean expected Castiel to just glance his way but instead he favored Dean with the power version of his usual stare, his gaze slowly traveling up and down Dean's body as if determined not to miss a single inch. Dean forced himself not to squirm; God alone knew how many hours he'd spent staring at Castiel when he thought the guy hadn't been looking. Turn about was fair play and all that. Finally Cas broke the spell, looking back down at his work. "You know you're pleasing to look at, Dean." 

And sure, Dean knew he got a lot of positive attention when he looked for it but he really hadn't known if Castiel would feel the same way. "You ever have sex?"

"The game is over."

"Answer anyway."

Cas ran his tongue over his lips. "No."

"You ever want to?"

Castiel's mouth opened but no words came out. "I have to get back to my work, Dean."

"C'mon, Cas. Answer."

Castiel's mouth just set in a thin line as he went back to work, his wings held tight against his back. Dean walked around the front of the car; the wings quivered as he got close and he could see that Cas was very hard. " _Can_ you answer?" 

Castiel just gave him the most helpless look Dean had ever seen. "What I want is immaterial," he said, the words coming too fast. "I'm here to perform a task."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Okay, I get it." He grabbed Cas around the arm and pulled him up, forcing it when Cas resisted at first. Dean stood there for a few moments, close enough to feel him breathing. "Anyone ever kiss you, Cas?"

After a moment's hesitation Castiel shook his head. "No."

Dean pressed him against the car and kissed him slow and deep, taking his sweet time tasting him. Castiel's whole body jolted at the contact, like Dean was made of lightning; he jerked his head back and Dean grabbed a fistful of hair to hold him still. " _Dean_ ," he whispered, a moan mixed with a plea and Dean kissed him again to shush him, Cas opening his mouth to the kiss even as he put his hands against Dean's chest to attempt to push him away.

"You want me to stop kissing you?" Dean whispered, close enough to Castiel that their lips brushed as he spoke. "Say the word."

Instead Castiel shivered, moaning again as Dean sucked on his lip. He fumbled open the rear door and pushed Castiel inside the car; the backseat was one of the first things they'd refurbished and Dean thought it was high time they broke it in. 

Dean knelt over him and trailed one hand down his body, almost getting lightheaded when Cas arched into the touch. Still, Castiel put both hands to Dean's chest and tried to push him away again and Dean responded by pinning Cas' wrists over his head, not missing the fleeting smile on Castiel's face when he did or how Cas pressed up against him. Castiel moaned when Dean kissed him again and Dean had dreamed about Castiel making that sound. Cas rocked his hips against Dean, his head tossing on the seat as Dean kissed down his neck, drawing soft, whining sounds from deep in his throat. Dean didn't have enough room to maneuver, especially not with Cas' wings taking up so much space but just being able to touch him like this was enough, feeling the heat of his skin against Dean's. 

"Dean," he whimpered again, his breathing coming so fast Dean wondered if he could hyperventilate. "Dean, I have to work. I have to."

"Tell me to stop," Dean whispered into his ear, tracing his tongue along the tapered point.

Cas just moaned again, rocking his hips against Dean again. "Dean, _please_."

Dean could tell Castiel was asking for a lot of different thing in those two words. Reluctantly Dean let go of his wrists, the disappointment mingled in the relief in Castiel's eyes almost making Dean reconsider. Instead he grabbed Cas by the hair again, feeling the shiver it caused run through Castiel's entire body. "Next time I'll plan ahead," Dean promised, his lips back by Cas' ear. "And up until then that's all I want you to think about.” 

***

"I don't understand. What do you want me to do?"

"Humor me, Cas. Can you do that for five minutes?"

The work on the Impala was going faster than Dean could ever have dreamed; the back end was still a mess, but from the front doors up it looked like a dream – the insides still needed work but looking at it front on could make your mouth water. Or it did for Dean, at least; even if he had a day where he was waiting on a part to do real work he still stole moments here and there to put some wax on the hood or shine some of the chrome. 

He hadn't realized what a weight he'd been carrying around, knowing his baby was all smashed up and not being able to do anything about it. She'd always been good to him; never broke down when he was behind the wheel, never blew a tire. Hell, his first time had been right in the backseat, with a girl whose last name he no longer knew but whose eyes he remembered lighting up when he pulled up in his car. Half the time Dean suspected the girls liked the car more than they did him but he could never quite find it in him to be jealous. The other day he'd stumbled across a stash of photos of old girlfriends draped across the Impala's hood like they were auditioning for a Whitesnake video. Good times.

And that was where he'd gotten the idea. He and Castiel hadn't so much as touched since that night in the backseat; that had all gotten real heavy real fast and it took a few days for the two of them to get their rhythm back. Thinking about pushing Cas down in the backseat and holding him down both got him hard and sent guilt spiraling through his stomach. That was rougher than he usually got and all the times in the past where rougher stuff had gone down it had always been specifically _asked_ for. Dean told himself Cas _couldn't_ ask for it though, that was the whole point; from what Dean could tell the guy couldn't even admit out loud that he wanted to do anything but work. And yeah, he'd tried to push Dean away but Dean also remembered Cas grinding up against him when he'd pinned his wrists down, that little phantom smile he'd let slip. Sometimes the memory of the smile overtook Dean while they were both working in the shop and it was all he could do to not pin Cas against the wall and hold him there, to feel him shiver as Dean did all those things Castiel wasn't allowed to ask for. If Castiel needed plausible deniability, Dean could give it to him; every night for the past week he'd woken up hard from vivid, frustrating dreams of tying Cas up all over the shop and just running his hands over all that pale skin until Castiel forgot he'd ever been sent there to do anything else.

Then Dean found those old mementos and realized no, that wasn't quite what he wanted. Castiel up against the wall was great, Cas tied up so Dean could take his sweet time was better but what Dean knew he couldn't take one more night without seeing was Castiel draped across the hood of his car. 

Dean finished tying the end of the rope around Castiel's right wrist and backed him up against the front fender. “Hop up on the hood,” he said. “I've sat on this hood and you're a lot lighter than me. I wanna see how that looks.” When Cas quirked one eyebrow at him Dean reminded, “ _Humor me_ , okay?”

Castiel still frowned, as if not quite sure this really fell within the rules but stretched out on the hood anyway and _Jesus_ , the way the black paint made the white of his wings pop kept Dean from breathing for a second. “We're...testing the integrity of the suspension, then?”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, Cas.” Because Castiel was giving him that same suspicious look from when the question game started getting suggestive and Dean knew he was smart enough to know this wasn't some strange human maintenance technique. Dean circled around the front of the car and picked up the other end of the rope; he'd already threaded it through the front seat before Castiel arrived and he'd made sure to measure it so that when he tied the free end around Cas' wrist he was tied down securely with enough slack for it to not hurt him.

Dean had thought about this a _lot_.

He stood back and just took in Cas lying on his back; he saw Cas' eyes go hooded when he noticed Dean staring and when he flared out his wings Dean felt his jeans start to get uncomfortably tight. “I believe I've humored you enough now. Untie me so I can get back to work.”

Instead Dean sidled up to the side of the car, stroking one hand along the black paint before pressing one hand against the center of Castiel's chest. “Told you, Cas,” he said, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “This time I planned ahead.”

Castiel's eyes dilated even as his lips pressed together into a line. “I have to work, Dean, I told you....”

“Shh,” Dean said, stroking his fingertips along Castiel's wing and watching his eyes flutter. “Not your fault you can't work, right? That's all on me.” When Castiel tried to pull on the ropes Dean pressed his hand back against his chest. “Watch out. You fight too hard you'll undo all the work we did on the trim. Betting that's against those rules of yours, huh?”

Castiel quieted, glaring up at Dean in a way that told him he was absolutely right. Dean grinned, stroking along the top of the wing again and trying to ignore the little voice in his head telling him this was the worst thing he'd ever done. The way Cas' back arched did a long way toward helping with that, the little sigh he let out as Dean smoothed down some of the ruffled feathers. “I do anything you don't want me to do, you just say 'stop.' You _can_ say that, right?”

Cas' tongue ran over his lips, his eyes wide. “I...yes. I can say that.”

Well, that was a relief. “Then the second you want me to stop, that's what you say.” Dean went back to slowly stroking along the top joint of the wing, the silky feathers sliding through his fingers. 

“Why...why can't I fly out of these bonds?” Cas said, his eyes closed.

Dean chuckled to himself. “Did some research on you guys. There's not a lot out there, but I found two stories about greedy shopkeepers who bound elves with silver so they'd work all night and all day. Didn't work out so well for those guys in the end, but it made me wonder if there wasn't some grains of truth in there. Special ordered some rope with silver threads. Dropped a chunk of money and the supply guy probably thinks I'm nuts but it looks like it was worth it.”

Castiel frowned. “You shouldn't listen to folktales.”

“Why? It wasn't right?” Castiel didn't answer and Dean thought he was more put out that the stories had been accurate than that Dean had found them. “So is that true? _Could_ I tie you up with this and keep you here?” Castiel's eyes went wide and Dean pressed one finger against his lips. “I wouldn't. Forget I asked, I was just curious how much those old stories were true.” Dean thought he caught that flicker of disappointment again in Cas' eyes and pushed that away, busying himself with his slow inventory of Cas' body now that he had all the time in the world for it, starting with tracing one fingertip along the delicate point of his ear and smiling at how that sent a shiver all through him. “Remember, Cas. The instant I do something you don't like, you say stop.”

Then Dean got to work. He felt Castiel's eyes follow as he trailed one hand down his arm, tracing the curve of muscle and down his inner arm, following the veins visible through the pale skin. Cas sighed when Dean stroked down the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist; Dean took that as a cue to linger there for a while, watching Cas' eyes widen as he trailed just the tip of his tongue across that sensitive skin. He shifted and traced the lines of Cas' palm, first with his fingertips and then with his tongue, traveling along each curled finger and learning the pattern of each fingerprint. Dean moved back up his arm, tracing with his lips and tongue the way he had with his fingers, burying his hands in the mass of white feathers like he was never going to let go. 

Dean turned Castiel's face toward him and kissed his lips, a very light, almost chaste kiss before taking the time to trace the edges of his lips, slowly enough that Castiel moaned. Dean grinned, kissing him again, one just deep enough this time that he felt Cas' lips part beneath his. He didn't let it get deeper than that, though, feeling Castiel tense in frustration as Dean kissed down the slight cleft in his chin and started down his neck. “Relax, Cas,” he murmured into his skin, tonguing the pulse point in his neck. “We got all night.” Dean traced the hollow of his throat, drawing out a strangled little sigh. He licked around the curve of Cas' collarbone while he busied his hands with trailing down his ribs, finding each little spot that made him jump and pull against his bonds and storing the information away for later. Cas' nipples were hard and he whimpered when Dean scraped just the edge of his teeth against one. “You're sensitive all over, Cas,” Dean whispered, loving the begging look Castiel sent his way. Dean kept traveling his way down Cas' body, licking his way down his stomach and pausing to feel him breathe. “Wish I had you tied to my bed right now,” he murmured into Cas' skin, feeling the way that made him shiver. 

“What would you do?” Castiel said and just hearing that made Dean harder than he'd ever been in his life. 

“Let's work our way up to that,” Dean said, moving his hands down to cradle his hips. He gently spread Cas' legs, running his hands across his inner thighs before taking a step back to just look at Castiel spread-eagled on the hood of his car, trying to tattoo it onto his memory. Then Dean stepped back to Castiel's side and licked up his shaft, feeling Castiel's whole body jolt up from that. Dean hesitated for an instant, waiting to hear if Castiel would give him the word to stop. When nothing came the rush was almost like the high from a drug. “I don't have a whole lot of experience with this, so you give me the word if I screw it up.” Castiel nodded, already breathing so fast Dean thought he'd better take it slow before he started to hyperventilate. Dean licked up his shaft again with exaggerated slowness, his eyes locked on Cas' face, the way his lips parted around another moan. Dean traced around the head of his cock before licking his fingers, probing just the outside of his opening. “Can't do everything I want with you trussed like this, but I can at least do this,” he said, pushing one finger in. 

Cas' hips bucked, his head tossing back; Dean pressed his finger in up to the knuckle and gave Castiel a moment to relax, grateful to a girl he'd run with a few years back who'd taught him how good this felt. Dean crooked his finger and Cas' hips jerked up, his eyes wide blue circles. Dean took the head of Cas' cock into his mouth and sucked hard; he saw Cas' hands ball into fists and heard him whisper his name. Dean tore his gaze away and forced himself to focus; he could tell Cas was very, very close, the taste of precome salty on his tongue. Dean sucked hard again, trailing his tongue around the head of his cock, feeling Castiel's legs start to shake. It took a few more seconds but finally with one more flick of his tongue he heard Castiel cry out as he came in Dean's mouth. Dean felt those contractions around his finger and imagined feeling that around his cock, hot and tight and that was almost enough to make Dean to come without Cas even touching him. 

Dean wiped his mouth and watched Cas shake. “Take it you liked that, huh?”

Castiel swallowed hard. “I....” He took a few seconds to catch his breath. “I never knew it felt like this.” He took another deep, ragged breath. “Humanity makes much more sense now.”

Dean grinned at that, untying one of Castiel's wrists and easing him off the car, holding him up when his legs wouldn't support him. “Take it easy. Enjoy it.”

“Are you going to let me get back to work now?”

“You want me to?” Castiel didn't answer, instead pressing his face against Dean's neck in a way that seemed unintentional but Dean knew absolutely was not. Dean wrapped the silvered rope around Castiel, feeling the shiver that ran through him and the way his eyes lit up when Dean leaned in to kiss him again. “Got some other stuff I'd rather do first.”

***

Work on the Impala stopped going quite so quickly. Dean had absolutely no problem with that.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean pulled a box of _stuff_ out of the attic; sorting through all that was a chore he'd been putting off forever, telling himself that he had to focus all his attention on the shop. That wasn't such a problem anymore and Dean knew it was time, if just so Sam wouldn't have the excuse to rib him about it the next time he visited. Dean didn't know where half these boxes had even come from, although he could tell some dated back from when his father was still running the shop. He even ran across some of his mother's things, probably stored up here so his father could put off dealing with them; Dean folded everything back up carefully and put everything back in its box, deciding they could wait one more day. 

He decided to refocus and went to the other side of the attic, where his own stuff was piled up. This Dean had a lot less attachment to and the job went quickly, work stuff in one pile, old school records in another (Dean didn't bother looking at those, he was shocked his father had even saved them.) Things didn't get really interesting until he started sorting through the various things clients had given him over the years. He'd given up years ago trying to figure out the things rich people did with their money, but over the years he and his father had amassed a decent supply of Rich Guy Gifts. Dean wondered if it would be worth calling up Sam and having him walk Dean through selling this stuff online or whether he'd be better off just tossing it all and making a clean sweep. 

Dean opened up another box and pulled out a brown trenchcoat, a Christmas gift from some client or another. It actually wasn't that bad a coat, really; it was a little too small for him across the shoulders or Dean might have been tempted to keep it for himself.

Then it occurred to Dean that a coat tight across his shoulders would fit Castiel pretty much perfectly. And it was less than a week until Christmas; Dean didn't know if elves had Christmas but he didn't think that meant Dean couldn't give him anything. God knew Dean owed him a hell of a lot more than one second-hand coat. 

And without thinking about it any further Dean put the coat under one arm and headed back down the stairs.

When Sam called on Christmas Eve to say that his flight had been snowed out Dean was almost relieved. Not that he didn't want to see Sam, but that gave him at least one more week to come up with a way to explain what in the hell had been going on in his shop. “Sam, it's cool. Come up for New Year's and don't worry about it.”

Sam's frown could be deafening sometimes. “You sure? I don't like to think of you all alone, Dean. I could probably still grab a train....”

 _If only you knew, Sammy._ “Dude. I'm a grown up. I promise you, it's cool. But get your ass here for New Year's, I got a hell of a surprise for you.”

Christmas Eve was a hell of a party, even if it took over half an hour to explain to Cas why Dean had dragged a tree into his shop. “So, what do you think of Christmas?” Dean asked, knocking back the last of the fancy wine a client had dropped off that morning. 

“I'm fairly certain I've seen more Christmases than you, Dean,” he said, quirking an eyebrow as he buffed a scratch from the Impala's door. “I just don't understand the point of most of the popular traditions. Like your hat.” 

Dean pushed the too-big Santa hat back up over his eyes. “You want it?”

Castiel glared at him over the hood of the car. “No.”

He was too easy to tease sometimes. “Dude, knock off work for a few minutes. I got something for you.” Castiel gave him another doubtful look and Dean sighed. “Should have kept you tied up the whole night. Five minutes. C'mon.” 

Castiel stepped away from the car, trailing one hand along it as though if he kept in contact it might count as work. “One minute.”

“Fine, fine. It's almost dawn anyway.” Dean reached back for the wrapped package on the counter behind him. “Merry Christmas.” Castiel frowned at the package for a few moments and Dean couldn't help himself. “You're supposed to open it.”

Castiel glared at him again and Dean knew he'd deserved that. He at first unwrapped it so carefully it was as if he expected Dean to reuse the paper later, but he dropped the paper to the floor forgotten when he realized what he was holding. “I...I don't understand.”

“I know it's kind of a dumb gift since you don't wear anything but y'know, now you could if you wanted to. You know I was never big on you being forced to look like that. And anyway, I can't use it and I think it would fit you, once you made cut outs for the wings and all.”

Castiel's eyes hadn't left the coat, holding it out from him like it was about to catch fire. “But the work isn't finished,” he whispered, his voice very small. 

Dawn hit before Dean could ask about the strange reaction, Castiel disappearing in a flutter of wings and taking the coat with him. Dean told himself he could just ask about it the next night, shoving aside the stricken look in Cas' eyes and how the memory of that twisted in Dean's stomach. 

 

***

Castiel didn't appear that night. If he was going to be honest with himself Dean would admit he hadn't expected him to, that look in his eyes couldn't have meant anything else. Dean sat there the whole night anyway, working his way through a fifth of whiskey as cold fury filled up his bones. He'd broken some rule, he knew that had to be it although damned if he could figure out which one it was. 

The next night was more of the same, the almost-finished Impala looking at him like an accusation. Dean didn't touch it. Dean didn't touch anything in the shop, letting work pile up as if that would give it some kind of magic power. 

After three days Dean knew he would have to get creative if he was going to find a solution.

Dean said the last of the words, an audible _shift_ in the air at the last syllable. As the smoke in the shop cleared Dean grinned when he saw Castiel sitting in the circle he'd drawn on the floor. “Hey, Cas,” he said, feeling the smile widen into something vicious. “Been a while.”

Castiel got to his feet, shock all over his face. “What did you _do_?”

Dean showed off ancient book of folklore he'd found at the University library; getting the particular story he'd wanted translated had taken a few days but every cent he'd paid was more than worth it right now. “Catching up on the classics,” he said. 

“This is dangerous, Dean. Don't do it again, you have no idea what you could summon.....”

“I don't care.”

Castiel sighed. “That's because you don't know---”

“Cas, I don't care. Satan himself could show up in that circle, I'm willing to risk it. Where the hell have you _been_?”

“You have no right to be angry with me.”

“Like hell I don't.”

Castiel strode out of the circle, standing inches from Dean's face. “You dismissed me. I have no say in any of this.”

“How the _fuck_ did I 'dismiss' you? On what planet are you on that you think I don't want you here?”

“Do you remember what we spoke about the first day? You offered me clothing and I told you not to, not if you wanted me to finish the work.”

“I....” And Dean _did_ remember that, he just hadn't realized. “Why didn't you say how important it was then? How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“We're not supposed to discuss the terms in that kind of detail.”

“Yeah, 'cause you always do exactly what you're supposed to, right? Were you hoping I'd slip up like that?”

“How could you ask me that?”

Dean shook his head. “Give the coat back. We'll wipe the slate clean.”

“It doesn't work that way. Once I'm dismissed I can't work for the same person. Even if I did work here now it would count as if I'd done nothing. A dismissal is final.”

“Why? Who decides that?”

Castiel shook his head, like Dean was the one being unreasonable. “It's just the way things are.”

Castiel moved to back away and Dean grabbed his wrist. “Stay anyway.”

Cas just pulled away. “I'm not free to make these choices.”

“And who decides that? Not fighting, that's a choice too. If I hadn't summoned you, would I have ever seen you again?”

Castiel looked at the floor, his arms crossed as he leaned against the car. “No.”

“And you'd be just fine with that, right?”

Castiel shook his head again. “What I feel is immaterial.”

“Then why are you still here?” Castiel glanced up at him and Dean closed the distance between them, pinning Cas against the car. “Why didn't you fly your ass out of here second you saw it was me?” Castiel didn't answer and Dean pinned his wrists down to the hood of the car. “For that matter, why are we even still talking about this?” he said, leaning in so close he could feel Castiel breathing. “We both know I could just tie you up and _keep_ you here.” That made Castiel's breath catch but the look in his eyes wasn't fear. Or at least, not _just_ fear. “We both know that and you didn't run out the second you could. What does _that_ say about what you want?”

Castiel closed his eyes. “Let me go.”

“ _Make me._ ” Cas didn't answer and Dean leaned closer still, close enough that their lips were all but touching. “Stop me from wrapping that rope around you, dragging you upstairs and tying you to my bed for as long as I want.”

“You wouldn't do that.”

“You're real fucking sure about that, huh.” Dean dug his nails into Castiel's wrists hard enough to make him whimper. It would be so easy and for a second all Dean could think about was Cas stretched out on his bed, there whenever Dean wanted him. No more staying up all night, no more rules to break.

But the moment passed. “I'm done with this,” he said, not missing the mingled relief and disappointment in Castiel's eyes, same as when he'd backed off in the back seat of the car. “Get out.”

“You summoned me. I thought you wanted me here,” Cas said, sounding like he'd entirely lost track of what was happening.

“I _do_. I...fuck, Cas, I want you here more than almost anything but it's not gonna be because I tied you up and forced you to be here. Or because whoever gives you your marching orders is forcing you to be here. The next time I see you, if that ever happens, it's gonna be because you _chose_ to be here. No other reason.”

Castiel's jaw clenched tight. “You don't understand what you're asking.”

“Stuff it, Cas. I'm not interested in hearing it anymore.”

Dean saw Castiel's eyes go very hard but all he did was nod. “If that's what you wish.” Then he disappeared, the wingbeat seeming to echo though the empty room.

*** 

Dean told himself the only reason he was sitting in the shop again come midnight was that he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway. He sat up on one of the parts tables and watched the minute hand tick past the twelve and tried to ignore how his stomach sank into his shoes. He didn't know what the hell he'd been expecting to happen. He tossed his empty beer can into the trash and reached up to turn off the light. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean spun around, feeling his heart almost pounding out of his chest. There'd been no familiar wingbeat, no warning sound but there was Castiel standing against the car just as he was every night.

Well, not just the way he was every night: this time Castiel showed up wearing the coat Dean had given him over a dark suit. Even more startling, the familiar wings were gone and when Castiel gave him his patented head tilt of confusion Dean noticed that the tips of his ears were blunted. For the first time since the day they'd met Castiel looked completely human. 

All Dean cared about was that he was there. “Hey, Cas,” he said, trying to sound casual. Or at least not like he was so relieved he was about to throw up, because that was exactly how he felt. “You, um...look a little different tonight.”

Castiel looked down at his suit as if noticing it for the first time. “Did I do something wrong? I don't...have much experience.”

“Nah, Cas, you look fine. You look like an accountant, but you look fine.” He nodded toward Castiel's missing wings. “What happened to the wings? You still look kind of naked without them.”

“I'm no longer bound to you or to anyone else, so I've lost that mark of servitude.” For the first time Castiel looked a little uneasy. “If that's a disappointment I under---”

Dean rushed forward and kissed him before he could get out another word. “Cas, man, I like the wings but I like you being right here right now a lot more.” Dean straightened his lapel and fixed the knot in the tie. “Would help if you weren't all crooked, though.”

Before Dean could even take another breath Castiel shoved him hard against the wall and kissed him like he was never going to let Dean breathe again. When he finally let Dean come up for air he slid his hands past Dean's waistband, letting out a soft sigh. “You've been waiting a long time to do that, huh?” Dean said, wrapping one hand around Castiel's tie to keep him close.

Castiel nodded. “You could say that. That alone was worth this.”

This time Dean kissed him, nipping at his lower lip. “So what do you want to do, Cas?”

Castiel smiled. “You keep telling me how much I'd like your bed.”

That was music to Dean's ears. “Shame you broke out your nice clothes. You're not gonna be wearing them very long.”

***

They kissed all the way back to Dean's bedroom, losing shoes and Cas' belt and Dean's shirt along the way. Dean let Castiel push him onto the bed, lying back as Cas undid his jeans. “I should torture you for hours the way you did me,” he said, kneeling over Dean and running his thumb under Dean's lower lip. “That would serve you right.”

“You can do anything you want to me, Cas. Lord knows I've had my way long enough.”

“You do have a point,” he said, bending down to kiss Dean's lips. “Turn over.”

Dean complied, grinning as he stretched out on his stomach. “Jumping right to the main event, huh?”

“Shush,” Cas said, making Dean grin again. “I'm working.” He felt Cas' fingers trail down his back, quickly followed by Castiel kissing his way slowly down the his spine, lingering just long enough each time for Dean to feel Cas' breath against his skin. 

“Jesus, Cas. Just like that.” He felt Castiel slide his jeans over his hips and down to the floor, Cas' hands trailing down his skin. He reached back and grabbed hold of Castiel's tie and pulled him down to the bed beside him, starting in on the shirt buttons before losing his patience and tearing the shirt open.

And he wasn't the only one short of patience; he'd barely finished before Cas pulled him down into a messy, deep kiss. “Tell me what you want, Cas.” 

Castiel's eyes were wide blue pools as he stared down at Dean. “I want to make you scream my name.”

Dean turned over again, stretching out again as Cas went back to running his hands over every inch of him. “Let's get to it, then.”

***

Dean startled himself awake, needing a second to realize all of that had really happened. Every inch of him was sore and wrung out and he'd never felt better in his life. He opened his eyes to find Castiel staring at him like Dean was an incredibly fascinating piece of art. “Hey, Cas,” he said, rolling a kink out of his neck. “Guess you still don't sleep, huh?”

“No.”

“Shouldn't have let me sleep, either.”

“I've never been able to watch you sleep before. I enjoyed it.”

“Weirdo.” Dean pulled him closer, hooking one leg around his and wrapping one arm around his waist. Castiel was still naked except for his coat, which he must have slipped back on while Dean was sleeping. “What's with all this?” Dean asked, fingering the sleeve.

“You gave it to me,” Cas said, a flush coloring his cheeks.

“ _Kinky_ weirdo,” Dean said, kissing him to take the sting away. “What time is it, anyway?”

“A few minutes until dawn.”

“Hey, happy New Year's Eve, then,” Dean said, running his thumb along Castiel's jaw. “Sammy's supposed to be flying in today, wait until he sees you here. Wonder how I should introduce the two of you.”

Castiel propped himself up on his elbow, his brow furrowed. “Why would that be an issue?”

“Well, when Sam finds you living here he's gonna have at least a few questions.”

“I thought you understood.” 

Dean just frowned. “Understood what? You don't still have to jet out come dawn, do you?”

“You might say that.” Dean felt Castiel's eyes study him. “You don't understand.”

“Cas, could you not be cryptic for five seconds?” Which came out harsher than Dean had intended but he could tell something was _wrong_ , Cas' eyes were too wide and his pulse was going too fast.

“Dean, I broke my bonds. I didn't work for an entire night. I chose that. I thought when you wouldn't let me explain it meant you understood.”

“Understood what?”

“The work and the bondage is what allows the dawn to restore us. It creates us anew each day.”

“So what happens if you don't do the work? What happens at dawn?”

Castiel kissed him, the touch light and lingering. “We die.” The first rays of dawn streaked through the window and Castiel's eyes went wide, his breathing suddenly ragged. He clutched tight onto Dean, kissing him deep for a few long moments. Dean felt him exhale and opened his eyes just in time to see Castiel outlined in white light, the glow erasing the blue of his eyes. When Dean tried to hold onto him his hand passed right though; as the sunlight streamed into the room Dean watched him dissolve into shimmering light and then finally nothing, leaving nothing but empty coat behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Contains character death and explicit scenes of a dubconish nature


End file.
